Frozen Memories and Unfulfilled Futures
Frozen Memories and Un-fulfilled Futures
Frozen Memories and Un-fulfilled Futures
The splintered shards of his penetrating gaze glitter like broken glass in what is left of the light.
His cheeks are hollow, gouged out by cruel conditions, and iced white by the brutal winds that whip around you. Out of this colourless portrait, his lips gleam crimson as he coughs blood’s coppery taste from his delicate throat, ripping himself apart with each ragged gasp for breath.
You reach out to him, but he cowers away, his bony hands shaking fearfully as he hunches over. He hides himself, cloaks himself with dust and denial until you can only glimpse him, but all the while his empty stare remains immaculate and unmoving; shining like broken panes of light would through the grime in a window.
He speaks, and the works crack and echo through the still air, twisting out of control as the silence is broken by the bitter sweet sharpness of his stained lips.
“Fix me! Fix me! Fix me!”
He repeats the two words through a voice riddled with hatred and love. Disgust and adoration. The words soar and scream; the intensity of his shattered voice ringing in your ears as his desperate cries become incoherent and you can do but stare as blankly as he had done.
He clings to you desperately as his last trace of sanity, his perfectly flawless body now weak as a paper doll, drained of its colour and frayed around the once crisp edges. You avoid his gaze, simply pulling him up by his twig thin arms and steadying him onto the filthy ground, his hands caked with grime and his porcelain skin encrusted with mascara tears.
“I love you” he mouths frantically, ringing his wretched hands as if in pitiless prayer, but the words are forced, maliciously faked and perfect to the every bitterly resentful detail, just like every other god forsaken lie.
He moans pathetically, dragging him self down into the dirt again, trying to pull on your arm, a desolate figure clad in ripped black and the slight scent of fear.
So is this love? The pain that spitefully coils inside of you? As if being ripped apart, you long to take him in your immobile arms, yet loathe and despise the thought of going any closer to him.
The chemical compulsions, the late night arrivals, the un-fulfilled intentions.
It was one distorted world for him and another for everyone else.
He is alone now.
Just like he left you.
You begin to walk away, clouded with silent hate yet restrained love.
He calls inexplicitly for you, over and over, each warped shout more desperate than the last. On the sixth cry you turn back, and your icily calm words slice through his pleas like the tip of a knife.
“I loved you. But you never knew the meaning of love.”
With that you break away from the bitter grasp of what never was or will be, and pick your route along frozen memories and the path to un-fulfilled futures.
He was almost worth the pain.
The splintered shards of his penetrating gaze glitter like broken glass in what is left of the light.
His cheeks are hollow, gouged out by cruel conditions, and iced white by the brutal winds that whip around you. Out of this colourless portrait, his lips gleam crimson as he coughs blood’s coppery taste from his delicate throat, ripping himself apart with each ragged gasp for breath.
You reach out to him, but he cowers away, his bony hands shaking fearfully as he hunches over. He hides himself, cloaks himself with dust and denial until you can only glimpse him, but all the while his empty stare remains immaculate and unmoving; shining like broken panes of light would through the grime in a window.
He speaks, and the works crack and echo through the still air, twisting out of control as the silence is broken by the bitter sweet sharpness of his stained lips.
“Fix me! Fix me! Fix me!”
He repeats the two words through a voice riddled with hatred and love. Disgust and adoration. The words soar and scream; the intensity of his shattered voice ringing in your ears as his desperate cries become incoherent and you can do but stare as blankly as he had done.
He clings to you desperately as his last trace of sanity, his perfectly flawless body now weak as a paper doll, drained of its colour and frayed around the once crisp edges. You avoid his gaze, simply pulling him up by his twig thin arms and steadying him onto the filthy ground, his hands caked with grime and his porcelain skin encrusted with mascara tears.
“I love you” he mouths frantically, ringing his wretched hands as if in pitiless prayer, but the words are forced, maliciously faked and perfect to the every bitterly resentful detail, just like every other god forsaken lie.
He moans pathetically, dragging him self down into the dirt again, trying to pull on your arm, a desolate figure clad in ripped black and the slight scent of fear.
So is this love? The pain that spitefully coils inside of you? As if being ripped apart, you long to take him in your immobile arms, yet loathe and despise the thought of going any closer to him.
The chemical compulsions, the late night arrivals, the un-fulfilled intentions.
It was one distorted world for him and another for everyone else.
He is alone now.
Just like he left you.
You begin to walk away, clouded with silent hate yet restrained love.
He calls inexplicitly for you, over and over, each warped shout more desperate than the last. On the sixth cry you turn back, and your icily calm words slice through his pleas like the tip of a knife.
“I loved you. But you never knew the meaning of love.”
With that you break away from the bitter grasp of what never was or will be, and pick your route along frozen memories and the path to un-fulfilled futures.
He was almost worth the pain.